


Don't take offense (at my innuendo)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Baker Derek Hale, Banter, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Gossip, Innuendo, M/M, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Sharing a Bed, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: The Beacon Hills bakery has been let at last! By the town’s very first werewolf. And he’s an Alpha too! It makes him a very appealing prospect to all of the single (and bored) inhabitants of Beacon Hills. Deputy Stiles Stilinski may be single and very bored, but he’s pretty sure that it’s no use even trying to flirt with the hottest baker he’s ever seen. He’s already stuck his foot in his mouth about half a dozen times, anyway.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 117
Kudos: 1116
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Don't take offense (at my innuendo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> My second and final FTH fic, for the lovely Kalika_999. I've really enjoyed working with you on this. Thanks for coming up with fantastic plots and bits and pieces that I could throw in here. 
> 
> Also, (only) two bingo prompts: Baking & Wildcard (Deputy Stiles). I'm calling that my Wildcard prompt, because I fucking love deputy Stiles. So. Also, some more fake dating-ish, and some bed sharing, because I love those tropes and honestly, can we ever have enough of that? There's also openly flirtatious Derek Hale and oblivious Stiles.   
> Clearly, I was having the BEST time writing this. Hope you feel that way reading it.

Beacon Hills loves its gossip, because let’s face it, the town is boring as fuck. Nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills - the Sheriff’s Department is small and unused to working anything bigger than a drunk and disorderly and the occasional domestic. Still, Stiles Stilinski would not want to be anywhere else but here. This is home, this is where his father is, this is where all of his friends are. And if he ever gets restless, he looks at the crime rates in the city he’s thinking about, and he loses all wanderlust pretty rapidly. 

Still, it doesn’t mean he isn’t bored. It means he’s terminally single and he’s pretty sure he will die alone, and it means he’s stuck doing donut runs and getting his colleagues coffee. Being the Sheriff’s son makes him the narc, his colleagues seem to think. And because his Dad does not want to show any favoritism, he gets to do all the fun rookie jobs until he earns something bigger and better - which won’t happen until someone retires and they hire a new rookie. 

Okay, so maybe Stiles really would want to be anywhere but here. He’d like to work challenging cases, perhaps even involving Lycanthropes or other Supernaturals - because apparently they have those in the outside world. Not in Beacon Hills though, not ever. 

Until the For Sale sign in front of the old bakery disappears and the entire town loses its collective shit. Because someone new is coming into town, and this someone new is apparently a werewolf. And not just any werewolf, but a proper Alpha werewolf, son of an important Alpha up in Oregon. Apparently he recently became an Alpha when saving someone’s life. 

Which… does he save kittens from trees too? Stiles doubts anyone would live up to all of the hype that the town has been putting on over this. Only a legitimate Prince Charming could, and Stiles is pretty sure this guy is not that. If he is, why would he come to Beacon Hills? There are no princesses here, no dragons to slay, no monsters or unexplained happenings ever. So clearly this guy is hiding from something and probably trying to rehabilitate his image. 

“Someone needs to go check out the bakery,” Deputy Haigh turns up his nose at the idea of a Lycanthrope owning and running a local business. “And since we’re all out of donuts and decent coffee… I’m sure the rookie will make time in his busy schedule to do a check-up.” 

Haigh is just too fucking scared to go near the bakery himself - he is one of those speciesist assholes buying dried wolfsbane in bulk just to be sure that he is surrounded only by humans at all times. Because he assumes that all a Lycanthrope really wants to do is rip out throats all the damn time, starting with the biggest waste of space he can find in town. Or, well, maybe that’s actually a toss-up between Haigh and Harris, and Stiles wouldn’t actually mind all that much if the wolf did go after them. But that clearly is not the point here. 

The point is that Haigh is a moron who thinks Stiles is going to wet himself over this. 

Clearly, he doesn’t know him at all. And Stiles is about to make that very clear, when...

“Let me give you some cash, Deputy,” his Dad is super professional, and particularly timely with his comment. “Can’t have all the food coming out of your wages all the time.” 

While his Dad usually slips the unlucky deputy at least some cash from the food fund they’ve managed to establish, he doesn’t usually make it so obvious. And yes, the donut jar is mostly filled with Haigh’s money, because his Dad has a policy about sexism and racism coming at a very steep cost. There’s a douchebag tax in his office, and Stiles agrees with it wholeheartedly, even though he’s occasionally had to throw a few dollars at it when he had trouble talking to Lydia Martin without drooling. It was extremely unprofessional, even though really, people could hardly blame Stiles for having trouble functioning when faced with an actual goddess. 

These days he saves his pick-up lines for Parrish, who just laughs it off. 

“One day you won’t be here to save Haigh from my vicious wit,” Stiles warns his Dad. 

“And that’s why we have Parrish,” Dad grins in return. “He knows you well enough to know when Haigh is pissing you off just by breathing. Or talking. Or both.” 

Look, Stiles is extremely happy to have Jordan Parrish as his partner - on the very rare occasion that he needs a partner. He just wishes that Parrish wasn’t also his father’s spy on those rare occasions. Stiles is prepared for payback though. Parrish is always happy to sneak unhealthy food far, far away from the Sheriff to protect his health. 

And he’s a damn good deputy, so he usually manages. 

“Do I actually need to do the werewolf patrol?” Stiles has to ask the second he’s sure the other deputies can’t overhear their conversation. 

“Don’t call it that,” his Dad warns, rolling his eyes. “And don’t even think about calling it Puppy Patrol or anything equally patronizing. Just give the new bakery a shot, see if they’ve got good food, and maybe welcome the owner to town. Try not to embarrass yourself too much.” 

Stiles would take offense at that, but he’s actually very aware of the kind of person he is, so he knows that his father isn’t actually wrong. He should probably let Scott finish the drinking game he once tried to create, the one about the many ways in which Stiles embarrasses himself in front of strangers or attractive people or attractive strangers. 

Which makes it a pain when he arrives at the bakery about fifteen minutes later, only to find the line from hell, mostly young women gawking at a very attractive stranger behind the counter. Clearly, Stiles is just doomed to stick his foot in his mouth at this point. 

“He is so fucking hot,” one high school girl says to another, completely ignoring the police officer standing behind them in line. “And he’s a Hale too. They’re like… werewolf royalty. His Mom basically runs the entire West Coast - only because she didn’t want to move away from her land to run the National Lycanthrope Council. We have a werewolf prince now.” 

Oh god, Stiles has not had enough coffee today to deal with this. Sure, what he can see of the mysterious Alpha werewolf is attractive, but since it’s so ridiculously crowded in here he wouldn’t be able to tell people anything about the wolf other than that he’s broad-shouldered and has dark hair. Stiles is seeing the shape of some nice arms - of course this guy has muscles for days, with all of the dough he has to work over with his werewolf strength - but there are too many people in front of him to catch more than a glimpse. 

“I could totally be a princess,” the other girl sighs, hands held to her chest. “Or you could be, I don’t know if he prefers blondes or brunettes. But he’s gorgeous and Mandy told me he has these eyebrows that make him look all serious and brooding like Heathcliffe.” 

Bad example. Seriously not a hero to aspire to - ever. Fucking Twilight, making girls think that obsession equals love. Honestly, even if this guy is the brooding type, there are so many better examples of a literary hero. Stiles would be happy to enlighten them. 

“They’re rich too, the Hales,” the blonde whispers far too loudly, so loudly that Stiles wonders if the werewolf himself can hear everything these girls are saying. “He can afford to buy, like, a dozen bakeries without even breaking a sweat. Though, I mean, he looks like he can totally break a sweat. Just imagine those muscles kneading dough, all sexy-like.” 

Stiles is pretty sure that this werewolf owns the miserable half of Derbyshire too. Who do these people think he is, Mr. Darcy? Still better than the Lycanthrope version of Edward Cullen. 

At least the line is moving relatively quickly - surely the Hale son is using his werewolf speed to keep everything moving all by himself. Stiles hasn’t spotted any employees - which by any other circumstance would be a sound business decision. But clearly Hale has not taken the curiosity of the residents of Beacon Hills into account - he’s going to sell out of most of his stuff within the next hour. Hell, he might not even have anything left by the time Stiles gets to the counter. 

Wouldn’t that just be typical? 

Over the course of the next half hour or so - seriously, people are buying the food about as quickly as Hale can bake it - Stiles hears more than he’d like to about the sex lives of the teenagers in front of him, and about who all of their friends, frenemies and straight-up enemies are sleeping with as well. Every single one of these teenagers has gotten laid far more recently than Stiles has - he probably shouldn’t even be surprised by that. 

That’s when Stiles gets an actual surprise. “How big do you think his knot is?” 

It takes every bit of acting skill he has to keep a straight face at that and not choke on thin air, especially when he catches the eye of the wolf in question. It is very, very obvious to Stiles that Hale has heard the question, and it is clearly something that he wishes he could unhear. The wolf’s ears are turning red, and his gaze is locked on Stiles, as if he is desperately looking for help from the idiot who is technically an officer of the law. Yes, the idiot is Stiles. 

“Please don’t make me arrest you for sexual harassment,” Stiles finally speaks up and embarrasses everyone involved in this conversation. “While I appreciate a good-looking man as much as anyone - perhaps more… That is clearly not the point. My point is that if you’re vocally appreciating someone attractive, please take into account that Lycanthropes have much better hearing than humans. I’m sure Mr. Hale appreciates a compliment, but this is going a bit far.” 

Rambling, it’s the Stiles Stilinski curse. 

Still, his rant has at least some effect, as the girls roll their eyes at him as they pretend not to be embarrassed by the object of their affections (and fetishizing) overhearing their exact thoughts on his physique. That and said object of affections gives Stiles an indecipherable look. 

Which is annoying, because Stiles is really good at deciphering stuff. 

He can be patient though, as Hale helps the roughly half a dozen customers in line before Stiles, including the now blushing teenage girls, barely able to form words in front of their new crush. Stiles can relate, he was much worse than that in high school, but he just hopes it makes them think twice before saying anything so traumatizing in front of the bakery’s owner. Who has probably already overheard a million things to that exact end today - maybe hearing someone in a deputy’s uniform speak up against it will help him a little. 

But honestly, Stiles doubts that. He knows these people. They do not quit. 

“How can I help you, officer?” Mr. Hale has a veneer of politeness covering an exhausted excuse for a fake smile. 

“I’m just a deputy actually,” Stiles knows it’s annoying, but he isn’t going to take any credit where he deserves none. “A rookie even. I mean, I still get to wear the handcuffs to impress the ladies or fellas or gender non-conforming people who’d be into that and oh my God I might as well just arrest myself right now. I am an embarrassment to the family. The Sheriff is my Dad.” 

He’s just going to dig himself an even deeper hole if he keeps talking like this, but it is not like he can actually stop himself from talking. If only he could, maybe then he’d actually be able to make new friends or God forbid, even date. Yeah, right. As if that would happen. 

Not in Beacon Hills, where everyone has known him forever. About the Sheriff’s son who couldn’t hack it in DC, who came back home with no college degree and no job. Who was unteachable, unfit to be an agent with the FBI or any kind of important police department - who is lucky his Dad had a job opening, even though he had to apply just like anyone else. It was the few years of college criminology experience that clinched it, stupidly. 

But that’s not something he talks or thinks about. Not anymore. Instead he just talks about everything and anything else. To play keep away with the dark thoughts. 

“On behalf of my very embarrassed Dad,” Stiles continues, because he’s an idiot. “We would like to welcome you to Beacon Hills. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you experience any problems. I can leave you my number, and woah, no, I mean like, the number for the Sheriff’s station. So you can talk to my Dad. The Sheriff. Stilinski. He’s Sheriff Stilinski. I’m Stiles. Stilinski, also. Though technically Stiles isn’t my first name. I’m Mieczyslaw.” 

Fuck, why the hell did he say that? Clearly he’s gotten no better at talking to extremely attractive strangers. He has no right to ever roll his eyes at teenage awkwardness ever again. 

“How can I help you, Mieczyslaw?” Hale just doesn’t even blink. 

Stiles feels like a total ass when he comes out with a full-on list with the beverage and snack preferences of every deputy currently on duty, but Hale handles it with relative grace (even though those severe brows speak volumes about how he actually feels). By the time Stiles is out the door with his order, he’s only stuck his foot in his mouth about five more times. Which for him is kind of a milestone. Because he’s the worst. 

Honestly, at this point he’s hoping that the food is terrible. 

* * *

The food is not terrible. In fact, he could have sworn he saw the face of God when he bit into his muffin (and she looked kind of jealous of the muffin). 

With that and the appeal of Hale, Stiles almost can’t blame the other citizens of Beacon Hills for wanting to get all up in that business. Only, he really wishes they would be a little bit more subtle about it, because as it stands, Stiles can almost smell the arousal and desperation every time his asshole coworkers send him back to Buns of Steel. 

Now okay, the Hale Bakery isn’t actually named Buns of Steel, but some supposedly witty visitor had coined the nickname and it had sort of just… stuck. Stiles would feel sorry for Hale having to overhear the many, many, many jokes about his own buns, but that was just the bread and butter of the bakery business. Didn’t every attractive baker get those jokes? It is just something that attractive people have to deal with - Stiles has no idea what that’s like. 

Maybe he should ask Jordan. He’d totally know about all of the dirty jokes attractive deputies got. Because Stiles had made at least half of them to Jordan, probably. 

Anyway, so Hale. Derek Hale, apparently. Stiles has done some research, shamelessly using police resources to get an idea of who he was dealing with. Or not so much dealing with as he’s just ordering food from this total stranger. Not that he suspects anything hinky, he’s just a curious little shit with access to way too much sensitive information. 

At some point he is just going to let it go, make like fucking Elsa. At some point he is going to give up on the ridiculous notion that Derek Hale will notice him and realize that Stiles actually isn’t completely awful and maybe kiss him or fuck him or preferably, date him. At some point he is going to go back to reality, to the real world where no one is interested in Weirdo Stilinski, and get his feet on the ground again. But for now, he still has hope, even though he has yet to manage a coherent conversation with Hale that didn’t end in him embarrassing himself. 

He has a chance to do better several times a week, and yet… Nothing. 

So when he’s on the early - too fucking early - shift and the phone rings, he isn’t exactly expecting to get another chance. He isn’t expecting much of anything, except for a nosy old lady hearing random noises again. It’ll probably be a raccoon. Again. 

“Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, how can I help you?” Stiles puts on a fake smile, because he knows that will help him sound more pleasant on the phone. 

There is a pause on the other end, as the person calling seemingly does not know exactly what to do about Stiles’ very normal introduction. This is not nearly the weirdest way he’s picked up the phone at the Sheriff’s department - there have been some dares that led to some very interesting calls that may have almost gotten him in trouble a time or two. 

“This is Derek Hale speaking,” Hale sounds none too happy. 

“How can I help you, Mr. Hale?” Stiles is trying oh so very hard to be professional when he’s pretty much dying on the inside. “Still having trouble with some persistent customers?” 

Sexual harassment isn’t really that big of a problem in Beacon Hills, but if Hale is willing to press charges, Stiles would be happy to get him sorted. And now he’s just trying really hard not to crack a mental joke about Hale getting him sorted in other ways. 

“Someone broke into the bakery,” Hale doesn’t care about the pleasantries, and Stiles can’t exactly blame him for that. “Now, I have a scent trail that I can follow, but I am not allowed to pursue anything without a law enforcement officer present. Apparently wolf senses are not actual legal evidence without support from local law enforcement.” 

That is a law Stiles knows about, but has never put into practice - because there has never been a wolf in Beacon Hills before. There is now, and there has been an actual crime in Beacon Hills and Stiles is going to get to be the one that helps investigate it. Even if he’s just there so Hale can do his supernatural sniffer thing, it is still one of the coolest things he’s had the opportunity to do since he got hired as a deputy. 

Until now, the most exciting thing was a traffic violation that wasn’t just speeding. It was some idiot teenager getting road head and having some trouble staying in his lane because of it. 

“You’re right, Mr. Hale,” Stiles is going for full-on professionalism still. “We will have an officer at your place of business in a few minutes. Please wait until we get there.” 

Hale hangs up on him, which he supposes means yes. It means that Stiles can call his Dad right away, because anything serious happening requires the officer on desk duty (usually Stiles) to make a call to the Sheriff. And this sounds like a possible B&E, with Lycanthrope issues to consider as well. This is something the Sheriff has to know about. 

So Stiles calls his Dad and explains, while grabbing his gear because he’s just hoping that he gets to be the one handling the case. Seeing as Jordan is out on a date - or a Tinder hookup, Stiles doesn’t exactly have all of the details - Stiles will need a partner if he’s going to be allowed to pursue this one. But there aren’t really any others on duty at the moment, not at 11:39 PM on a Monday night in Beacon Hills. 

When his Dad makes the call and tells Stiles to head over there, and call in his old man for backup if he needs it, Stiles does a very unprofessional fist bump as he locks up behind himself at the station, running towards his on duty vehicle like it’s a matter of life and death. 

His finger almost slips onto the button for the siren, but he knows his Dad will actually kill him if he rushes towards Hale Bakery like that. He’ll wake up a lot of old ladies, and they need all the beauty sleep they can get - or just enough sleep so that they don’t pinch Stiles’ cheeks and gossip about him too loudly when they think that he can’t hear them. 

“Deputy Stilinski,” Hale is waiting for him when he pulls over in front of the bakery. 

“Mr. Hale,” Stiles is probably grinning like a mad man. “Can we check out the scene first?” 

It sounds fucking badass - there is an actual crime scene in front of him, Stiles’ own crime scene that he gets to handle all by himself. Though his Dad did warn him not to get too wound up and ruin Derek Hale’s chances at catching the person who did it, just by being himself. 

Stiles is going to have to work hard to at least minimize the flailing. 

“Alright,” Hale reluctantly agrees. 

The door to the public part of the bakery has been jimmied gracelessly, leaving the lock irreparably damaged. Some trinkets in the window have been pushed aside, shards of plates and cups on the floor. The register is in its usual place, and it looks unharmed. So either Hale interrupted the burglars before they got to the register, or the unnamed assailant was after something other than money. The odds are even on both options. 

“What did they take?” Stiles looks around, but he does not notice anything too obvious. 

“They didn’t take anything,” Hale’s eyebrows are even more serious than they usually are as he explains. “They left something, though. Next to the register.” 

Hale motions for Stiles to head closer to the register, and that is when Stiles sees it. What he thought was just another stack of cards - like the ones Hale uses to describe the treats on display and mention any allergy info - is actually a thick piece of paper with a phone number written on it in black permanent marker. A phone number, and a name. 

“Well, they signed their work,” Stiles is trying so hard not to laugh at the stupidity. 

Sure, not leaving a name would defeat the purpose of leaving a phone number for Hale, but Stiles is this close to facepalming. Because not only did this person only break into the bakery to make sure that Hale got their phone number, they also left their calling card and made it extremely easy for the Sheriff’s department to identify them. Stiles is half expecting alcohol to be involved in this, or some kind of stupid juvenile dare. 

“Excuse me?” Hale does not seem to find this nearly as funny. 

“I’m just less than impressed by the average intelligence in this town,” Stiles almost has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. “This is going to make it even easier than expected to find them and charge them. A name makes for excellent evidence. Have you touched it? Because we can dust for prints before we leave.” 

Of course Stiles carries a fingerprinting kit. He usually only gets to use it to figure out which one of his colleagues ate his lunch, but this is a special day. 

He goes through the motions quickly and professionally, hoping to impress Hale at least a little with his mad fingerprinting skills. But alas, that is not to be, because Hale is impatient and hardly even gives him the time of day until Stiles is done collecting evidence. 

“Alright, that’s logged,” Stiles has to make sure the chain of custody is perfect on this. “Now, tell me, where are we headed? Are we taking my car or are we walking?” 

Can he impress Hale with his smooth driving skills? Probably not. Can he impress Hale with his professional conduct? Maybe for about five more seconds. Can he impress Hale in any way? Yeah, he is going to have to go with a “no” on that one. 

“We’ll walk,” Hale strides outside, and Stiles tries not to just watch his ass. 

He is a professional, damn it. (He fails.)

“Sounds good to me,” Stiles almost waits for Hale to lock the door behind them, until he realizes that he can’t actually do that. “Can you tell me how tracking people by scent works? We haven’t had a Lycanthropic resident before, so you can imagine my experience with this particular skill is… rather limited. Or pretty much non-existent, actually. But then again, Beacon Hills isn’t usually a hotbed of crime. Or anything interesting. I’m sure you moved here for a reason, but it can’t be for anything interesting. It’s the peace and quiet, isn’t it?” 

A hint of a smirk on Hale’s face - just the corners of his mouth twitching a little as Stiles manages to make a fool out of himself yet again. It’s one of his particular skills, which is definitely something that Hale should know by now. He’s visited the bakery often enough, and stumbled into many a weird rant just as often, that Hale might even be able to predict just when Stiles will veer from a normal attempt at banter into foot in his mouth territory.

“There is no established wolf presence here,” Hale is actually almost opening up to him for some reason, and Stiles is loving it. “Settling down in a town with other wolves would be considered a threat. And this land still technically belongs to my family. Turn left here.” 

Stiles finds himself following the order without a thought, and wondering if all Alphas are so naturally commanding. It’s not actually a werewolf special power, he knows that much, but his hindbrain is still giving him all the signals that he is walking side by side with a potentially dangerous predator. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up. 

And yet, he isn’t actually scared of Derek Hale at all. 

“We’re heading towards my place, by the way,” Stiles stupidly tries to fill the silence. “You do know that my name isn’t actually Jennifer, right? Do I look like a Jennifer to you?” 

He sounds more concerned than he actually is, because while he is trying for a joke, the punchline doesn’t quite work the way he intended it. Hale is probably barely even listening to him in the first place. And yet, Stiles just stupidly rambles on and on. 

“I know Stiles isn’t your real name,” Hale is perceptive enough to remember that much of Stiles’ random ramblings. “Mieczyslaw, was it?” 

The pronunciation isn’t perfect, but it’s a whole lot better than anyone else in Beacon Hills has managed, barring Stiles and his Dad. Not even Scotty can say it that well, probably because Stiles hasn’t used his first name in ages, and Scott’s language gifts lie with passable Spanish and nothing else. Well, okay, maybe a couple of French words, to try and impress Alison. 

But Stiles is not getting into that can of worms again, not even mentally. 

“You must have an excellent memory,” Stiles compliments Hale. 

“You’re just memorable,” Hale shrugs that off, as if it isn’t an actual compliment. 

Or, well, it’s basically only a compliment if Hale means it in a positive way. He wouldn’t be the first person to tell Stiles he’s somewhat unforgettable and mean it as an insult. Though Jackson Whittemore used to stick with the Stiles is completely forgettable angle. 

“Thanks, I think,” Stiles says, because he’s an idiot who’s trying to be polite. 

“Turn right,” Hale almost reaches out to drag him along. 

That is when Stiles starts wondering how awful he smells to a sensitive werewolf nose, if Hale doesn’t even want to touch him. He washes his uniform regularly, and he takes a normal amount of showers, but maybe he’s spilled something again, or his natural scent is some kind of werewolf repellent, because wouldn’t that be just his luck?

“Well, now I think I know which Jennifer we’re looking for,” Stiles tries to match Hale’s speed, even though he’s just a pathetic, lowly human with a slightly above average skill at fitness. “And I’m actually kind of surprised it isn’t Jenny Diaz - she’s sixteen and her friends would be exactly the kind of idiots that would dare her into breaking in and leaving her number.” 

And just as expected, Derek stops in front of the house of Jennifer Blake, another relatively recent Beacon Hills transplant. She moved to town about a year or so ago, after a rough break-up. At least that was what town gossip told Stiles. And since Ms. Blake has been teaching high school English for a while, there is a lot of gossip to be heard. Students just love to find out their teachers’ dirty little secrets. Though really, a divorce wasn’t that bad a secret. 

“Do we knock?” Stiles asks, stupidly. 

“You’re the deputy here,” Hale is none too amused by Stiles’ flaky behavior. “You decide.” 

Okay, so maybe Hale actually has a point there, and Stiles has to actually take the lead and not let the victim of the crime handle the persecution - because that is never going to turn out well. 

“Alright, I got this,” Stiles says, more to reassure himself than to reassure Hale. 

Hale does not seem particularly convinced by those four words, and that is when Stiles remembers that Lycanthropes can tell when people are lying. Can they tell if people are lying to themselves as well? It honestly wouldn’t surprise him. 

Jennifer Blake comes quietly, much to Stiles’ - and Hale’s - surprise. She flirts with Derek rather outrageously the whole way back to the station, and sometimes Hale almost seems charmed by it, which makes zero sense to Stiles. 

But then again, he wouldn’t actually know how to flirt successfully, so what does he know? Just because a couple of people have pitied him enough to sleep with him… And okay, that is not a road he needs to go down right now, especially not when he is dealing with a supernaturally hot werewolf and a not so mysterious burglar with a crush. 

“Excellent job son,” his Dad says when they bring in the culprit. “Mr. Hale, thank you so much for your cooperation. We really appreciate that you’re willing to work with us. Would you like to file charges? Deputy, please escort Ms. Blake to our interview room.” 

See, his Dad can totally be professional. Why didn’t Stiles get those genes, instead of his mother’s penchant for mischief and serious attention issues? 

“Thank you, Deputy,” Hale tells Stiles before he walks away. 

“No, thank you,” Stiles tries really hard to pretend that he’s not blushing. “You’re certainly the best canine partner I’ve ever worked with, and I really appreciate you sniffing out the culprit. And I am so sorry please disregard anything I’ve ever said in my life.” 

Dog jokes. Somehow he is making dog jokes. About Derek Hale. In front of him. With Stiles’ father present. In front of a suspect. This is the worst. Stiles is the actual worst. 

At least Hale doesn’t look like he wants to murder Stiles - at least, not any more than he usually does, because those murder brows are fierce and pretty damn terrifying even when they’re technically ‘at ease’. Stiles wishes he could be only ten percent as intimidating as Derek Hale - at least that way he wouldn’t get his cheeks pinched nearly as often. And oh yeah, people might actually start taking him seriously as a deputy, or just as a person. 

But it does not seem like that is going to happen any time soon. And it’s his own damn fault. 

“That is a lot of words to disregard, son,” his Dad enjoys mocking him a little. 

“There is a spell for that,” Jennifer Blake makes an attempt at being helpful - or at least, what passes for helpful with someone like her. “I could teach you. You have a gift.” 

Say, what now?

* * *

So, apparently Stiles gets to have his “you’re a wizard, Harry” moment after all. He can’t help but think it’s about ten to fifteen years late. 

Also, those books involved a lot less muggles being told they had magic by a criminal they were trying to arrest. Honestly, the situation could have been a lot better - Jennifer Blake could have told him the second she’d figured it out instead of waiting for the moment that was most opportune for her. She really does love her dramatics, making the big reveal in front of not just Stiles, but his Dad and Derek Hale as well. Now, of course the presence of the Sheriff - not just his Dad but also his boss - definitely makes things more interesting. 

But why did she say it with Hale present? There doesn’t seem to be a good reason for that - which means there is a reason, just not one Stiles knows of yet. He doesn’t like not knowing. 

Which means that he really doesn’t like that there is this thing about him that he didn’t know before - and now he’s supposed to either go on like nothing has changed, or start doing something about it. And somehow he doesn’t know how to do either of those things. 

How does one get started learning magic in a world without Hogwarts? Unless there are magic schools that no one has informed him of, but he honestly doubts that. Because that would just be way too cool to be real - and in Stiles’ experience, cool things just don’t happen to him, not when his life could just be the same old boring bullshit instead. Not when he could be the butt of the joke to everyone, when he could continue being the loser who never gets it right. 

Maybe he doesn’t even have a gift. Maybe Jennifer Blake was lying to him. 

That doesn’t explain Hale, however. 

Stiles finds his way to the bakery the next day - not to get his colleagues anything, for once, because he does occasionally get a day off - only to find it closed. Or at least, the sign says closed, even though he can see Hale moving around inside, probably cleaning up the mess left behind by Jennifer’s middle of the night break-in. Or late evening, whatever. 

That’s practically the middle of the night in Beacon Hills time. 

“Stiles,” he can see Hale mouth his name. 

Do werewolf senses work that well? Stiles has to wonder. Because sure, he’s managed to get himself quite close to the door, just to see how Hale is doing with the cleanup - but he’s pretty damn sure he isn’t actually close enough for Hale to hear him through the door. Or is this more of a scent issue? Is he perhaps particularly pungent today, even though he showered for quite a while this morning? Can Hale smell just what he did in the shower?

Oh God, even his mind needs a muzzle. 

“Come in, Deputy,” Hale actually opens the door to him. 

“Are you sure?” Stiles gives him a way out, like a total idiot. “You’re closed, and I’d understand if you didn’t want to deal with me today. I know I’m not the most subtle of people.” 

That is the understatement of the century - surely anyone and everyone in Beacon Hills would say that much. Stiles has never been accused of being subtle in his life, which probably isn’t the best of qualities for a cop. Somehow, he still manages to be okay at his job. 

“Thanks again for last night,” Hale times that comment perfectly - just as Kylie Morgan, Gossip Queen walks by. “I know it was rough, and it must have been quite a shock for you.” 

Kylie Morgan’s jaw actually fucking drops, and Stiles is pretty sure that it won’t take her an hour to have a rumor ready of some kind of midnight rendezvous between the loser deputy and the hot new Lycanthrope in town. Sure, for once he won’t actually come across as too much of a loser in the gossip mill, but it’s still patently untrue and might get him in a lot of trouble if even one of Hale’s many, many admirers take offense to a perceived hook-up. 

And then he steps inside and actually looks at Hale. 

“Did you do that on purpose?” Stiles is having trouble computing that. “I did  _ not _ expect you to be such a master of the double entendre.” 

He is impressed, though. Hale seems to have a wicked sense of humor that no one has caught a glimpse of so far - no one but Stiles, it seems. It’s odd, because Stiles hasn’t earned the right to be an exception to any kind of rule related to Hale. But he’ll at least try not to look a gift horse in the mouth this time. And try not to get carried off with the wishful thinking. 

“Couldn’t resist,” Hale is smirking as he locks the door behind Stiles. 

Okay, Stiles is not going to let his thoughts go haywire again. With the double entendre and the locking the door and the two of them alone in an empty bakery - it’s the perfect setup to either romance or porn, and honestly Stiles would be down for either. 

Hale can probably smell that much. 

“I hope you can live with the consequences,” Stiles tries hard to make light of it. “Because saying anything in front of Kylie Morgan is asking for an even busier bakery tomorrow, as the entire town tries to figure it out for themselves. If it’s actually true. If your standards are somehow low enough to go for weirdo Stilinski. You’re going to give them hope, Hale.” 

All of the boys and all of the girls are going to think that this means that Hale is open for business - so to speak. They are going to think that he got the easy target out of the way first, and that he’s ready for their advances now. They’re going to try and figure out what Stiles supposedly did that actually worked on Hale, in the hopes of replicating their magical night together. That night that never actually happened - and never will. 

“Derek,” Hale corrects him, and then stays silent. 

“Derek,” Stiles repeats dumbly, because what the fuck? 

Hale just turns around to continue sweeping the floors, gathering shattered pieces of ceramic in a dustpan. When he bends over to check said dustpan, Stiles almost swallows his tongue. 

“Ms. Blake was right about you,” Hale gets up again, not looking at Stiles this time. “I couldn’t place it before, but there’s magic in your scent. Tempered by… something. But it’s there.” 

There are so many things about Hale’s words that are blowing his mind right now that he hardly even knows where to start. First of all: is Hale purposefully calling the apparent witch by her last name for some reason? Second: Hale has supposedly been scenting - that’s what it’s called when wolves use their super sniffer, apparently - Stiles repeatedly in an attempt to figure out some mystery in the way he smells. Third: Lycanthropes can smell if someone has magic powers? Fourth: Magic has a scent? Fifth: Tempered? By what? 

Stiles has all of the questions at this point, and he knows he’s going to end up making a fool out of himself trying to get himself some answers. It’s a familiar place for him to be, at least - it’s almost comforting by now. At least he always know how to make himself look like an idiot. 

“You can smell that?” Stiles may or may not be completely freaking out about this. “What else can you smell? Can you - No, never mind. Forget I asked, I don’t even want to know.” 

Judging by the look on Hale’s face, he can totally tell that it’s a lie. Still, he doesn’t say anything, he just continues to clean, apparently waiting for Stiles to do or say something. If only Stiles knew what it is that Hale wants him to do. 

He feels like fucking Jon Snow. He knows nothing. 

“What - how?” Stiles just starts to stammer. 

“You’re a wizard, Harry,” Hale responds in the most monotone voice Stiles has ever heard him use. “Congrats. I wouldn’t wait around for an owl to get here, but I would suggest getting in touch with a professional. Someone who can train you, or look at what’s blocking you.” 

Great, he’s going to need to find himself a Yoda. Or a Ben Kenobi. But where does one find himself one of those? Stiles didn’t even know that magic was real until last night, and now he’s supposed to just get over that stunning surprise and get to work? Impossible, especially since it’s not like he has anyone to talk to about this. His Dad hasn’t been able to look him in the eye since they found out, and it’s not like he’s dumb enough to ask Jennifer Blake herself. 

He has some pride left, thanks ever so much. 

“I honestly don’t know where the fuck to start,” Stiles finally figures out that being honest is his best bet here. “I’m a virgin. Be gentle with me, here.” 

That is not what he meant to say, and Hale probably knows that. Still, he can tell that the Lycanthrope is smirking a little, even though he’s only half facing Stiles. He’s not making fun of Stiles too obviously, which he totally appreciates, but he’s making it obvious that he is amused by the rambling and embarrassment for some reason. Which, rude. 

“You don’t want me to play nice,” Hale finally turns to face him completely. “But that’s beside the point. You should go see Deaton. Yes, that Deaton. He may be more mysterious and elusive than Dumbledore, but he’s the only local magic user that I know of who can be trusted.” 

How does Hale, who’s been in town less than a month, know more about the people of Beacon Hills than Stiles does? Other than his brief and unfulfilling attempt at college, he’s lived here his whole damn life. Just because he hadn’t known that magic is real, doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t know that there is more to Alan Deaton than just the vet clinic. 

I mean, there’s calling him a weirdo in his head, and then there’s this. 

“I wasn’t about to ask Jenny from the cell block,” Stiles finds himself cracking a terrible joke just to keep that stupid smirk on Hale’s face. “Fucking hell, I’m going to keep sticking my foot in it, aren’t I? I bet you’re regretting your decision to let me in here, huh?” 

They haven’t managed to have an audience staring at them from outside the bakery just yet, but Stiles is pretty damn sure that they will in a couple minutes. Or less, because he just really cannot afford to underestimate the powers of Kylie Morgan. She’s brought down many a powerful man or woman - this is not the time to take risks. 

Not that standing in a bakery with Derek Hale is a risk. They’re at least five feet apart. 

“No,” is all Hale says. 

“No?” Stiles finds himself repeating a single word again. 

Because he might actually be suffering from auditory hallucinations at this point. By all accounts, Hale should regret ever meeting Stiles by now - everyone else does, with a few extremely rare exceptions that Stiles suspects to be the result of sheer stubbornness. 

“Don’t ask me why,” Hale warns, apparently done cleaning for now. “But I don’t regret it. You will, however, if you don’t help me draw the shutters or come into the back with me. How are we supposed to keep up the afternoon delight ruse if the audience sees us standing five feet apart with our clothes still on? I know you’re a virgin, but I figured you’d know that much.” 

Stiles knows he’s gaping, struggling to find the right response to this surprisingly vicious attack on his character and almost non-existent sexual prowess. Also, afternoon delight? Really? 

“You are an asshole,” Stiles is both surprised and delighted by this revelation. “Also, it’s not time for an afternoon delight yet. It’s technically still morning. This is closer to being a nooner.” 

He cannot believe that he is arguing sex terminology and slang with a werewolf right now - and with this werewolf in particular. For some reason, Hale has managed to completely hijack the conversation. Sure, he’s let Stiles have a ramble from time to time, but he’s always steered the conversation back to the ridiculous rumors for some reason. Apparently Hale is the kind of guy who likes fanning flames that should remain unfanned. 

“So you do know the lingo,” Hale actually claps mockingly. 

“I don’t get you,” Stiles responds helplessly. 

What does Hale get out of this? Why would he want people to believe that he’s having sex with Stiles? The hint of a one night stand was bad enough - well, not particularly bad, but surprising enough at least. And now Hale is cracking jokes about letting people think they’re still doing it - or doing it repeatedly - like he doesn’t give a shit about what people will think of that. Like he’s happy to have them keep thinking that. 

And Stiles just - why? 

Hale grins again. “Good.” 

* * *

Deaton is more vague than Dumbledore has ever been, that is for damn sure. The man knows his shit, even Stiles can tell that much, but he avoids answering any questions that aren’t about the very thing they’re doing at that moment. He’s vague about everything else, calling himself a Druid, Stiles a Spark, and then just never fucking explaining what those terms mean. 

Instead he tells Stiles to believe he can do magic, like Stiles is the little magician who could. He really, really isn’t. He’s more like the guy who found out about his powers too late for them to be any kind of useful. He’s the not so little magician who can’t. Can’t anything. 

Except Mountain Ash. For some reason, his magic responds to it more than it does to anything else, which Deaton tells him is the sign of a strong Spark. Which he can make stronger by believing - because apparently that is the end all be all to his magic. If he makes like R Kelly, he might even be able to fly. He just has to believe. 

Right now he’s stuck on the X-files level. He  _ wants _ to believe. But that’s it. 

Hale laughs when Stiles tells him that X-files thing, because apparently other than being gorgeous, sarcastic, witty, intelligent, and strong as fuck, Hale is also a giant nerd. Could he be more Stiles’ type? Probably, if he makes a Star Wars joke and likes baseball. 

“I can’t believe I keep bothering you with this,” Stiles sighs. 

The bakery is closed, Stiles has just come off a long and boring shift, and instead of going home and doing some of the exercises that Deaton has explained to him, Stiles is helping Hale clean up again. It’s the third time this week, and Hale has yet to kick him out. Because apparently werewolves don’t mind it when intrusive idiots show up at their place of business every single day to complain about their abysmal performance in their magic lessons. 

Or maybe that’s just this werewolf in particular. And this intrusive idiot. 

“I don’t mind,” Hale shrugs. 

“At least you didn’t lie and say I’m not bothering you,” Stiles finishes wiping down the counter. “I hate it when people do that. I know better. I’m a bother.” 

He both does and does not want to hear that he’s not a bother at all, that people actually like him after all when it just seems like they really do not give a shit. He wants people to tell him that’s just in his head, only it’s not just in his head and he doesn’t want to be that guy who is always asking people to prove themselves to him. Because it’s not fair to anyone, including himself, to do that to anyone. It’s just… Sometimes he just needs the validation. 

There’s not a lot of people he can get that from, after all. Most people prefer to dodge him. 

“You’re an idiot,” Hale tells him, and Stiles honestly doesn’t know what to think. 

Which is almost new for him. Though it’s not that his mind has actually stopped working - it is very much incapable of that - it is that he doesn’t know which one of the many rampant thoughts he should believe right now. There’s a part of him that’s very sure that Hale actually thinks he’s a complete idiot, and he is only spending time with Stiles because he feels sorry for him and he doesn’t have any other supernatural options. But there is also a part of him claiming that Hale’s previous statement sounded rather fond and Hale likes that Stiles is a bit weird and that is why they might almost be called friends now. Or at least, that Hale doesn’t hate or despise him. 

That’s something, at least. 

“People have told me that before,” he nods, because it’s not untrue. 

“You’re not the only one,” Hale sounds like he knows how it feels. 

It probably shouldn’t surprise him that someone who looks like Hale, someone who owns his own business and has plenty of money to spare, who is bound to be the leader of a pack soon, who’s got a whole town interested in everything about him… It surprises him that a guy like that thinks he could be on the same level of idiocy as Stiles. Still, it’s not really a bad thing, he thinks. 

“What’s your latest crowning moment of idiocy?” Stiles has to ask. 

“I told my Mom I have an emissary,” Hale says, and Stiles has to sound out that last word to make sure he understands what he’s hearing. “I managed to lie to my mother on the phone. Laura will be so proud of me when she finds out. And she will find out. She always does.” 

All of this is not something Stiles knows about, which is weird, because he knows about a lot of things. He just doesn’t know about lying to his Mom - well, okay, maybe he does a little bit, but most of those memories are nostalgically sepia-toned when he can actually remember them in detail. He doesn’t know about siblings, because his parents just never managed to have that second child they wanted. And he certainly doesn’t know what an emissary is. 

“Your sister?” Stiles thinks it sounds sisterly, but then again what the hell does he know? “Or, I’m assuming Laura’s your sister. And I know people say not to assume, but I’m gonna. About this, at least. I’m not going to assume that I have any idea what an emissary is. Like, that’s not on any of the many, many sites I’ve searched. I like to know things.” 

Now that is an understatement. It’s more that he  _ needs _ to know things. It’s like his skin starts itching when he doesn’t, like him knowing all of the facts about male circumcision is going to save his life at some point. Sometimes he just gets caught up in a tangent, and once he starts reading about something, he has to keep reading it until he gets all of it. And he actually remembers most of it too, because his mind is a weird place like that. 

“So it’s not just werewolf porn?” Hale questions. 

“Not  _ just _ porn,” Stiles just grins at him, because Hale would know if he were lying. 

Hale doesn’t even flinch or cringe, which is kind of impressive. At least he isn’t shaming Stiles for wanting to do all kinds of research in his quest to learn all about wolves. 

“I know that stuff about knots is bullshit,” Stiles attempts to reassure Hale. 

“Oh, you do, do you?” Hale steps in closer, dips his chin and then looks up through his lashes. 

That look is criminal - Stiles might actually have to arrest himself for his response to that look, because he gets hard faster than he thought was possible at his age. He hasn’t even managed to process the auditory element of the conversation yet, not when he’s getting the chin dip giving him a message of its own. A message that he wants to describe as “play your cards right and I’ll make you see God”. It’s a shame that Stiles has never been good at playing his cards right at the right moment. Because he would let Hale do all of that and more. 

And then he gets to what Hale actually said and he’s just… Porn. His brain is porn. Probably because of all of the knotting porn he’s watched since werewolves went public, but also because here is the hottest Lycanthrope Stiles has ever seen, alluding to the idea of him having a knot. And looking at Stiles like he wants to do a little show and tell. 

Stiles really wants him to do that show and tell. Especially if it involves Stiles inspecting the merchandise, so to say, really closely. Possibly with his mouth. 

“You’re fucking with me,” Stiles finally realizes. “Oh God, you’re an asshole.” 

Hale is still batting those lashes at him, and Stiles cannot believe that something so blatantly fake is actually working for him. Only he can, because Hale is gorgeous and Stiles isn’t exactly getting any offers lately. Or ever. There have been a few pity offers, but no one has attempted to seduce him like this in… ever. Only Hale isn’t trying to seduce him, not for real. 

“Guilty,” Hale actually shrugs at him, dropping the seductive pose. 

Sadly, the asshole doesn’t actually get any less appealing when he’s not being seductive on purpose. Which makes Stiles’ current problem - in response to this appeal - a bit more… permanent than he was expecting it to be. And Hale can probably smell it. 

“I’m not sure why you lying to your mom is such a big deal, though,” Stiles decides on a safe topic, to give himself time to make his dick calm the fuck down. 

“Because now she thinks I’m ready to start building my own pack,” Hale sounds like this is an incredibly big ask. “And she has three Betas she thinks would be a good fit. So she’s sending them here, into the hornet’s nest. And now I have to come up with a viable magic-user within the next few days, because that’s when they’re getting here. On a trial basis, my Mom says.” 

So Hale’s going to get himself caught in that lie really quickly. Especially if three wolves are coming to town, and he will not be able to lie to them verbally, and they will be able to sniff out anyone who smells like they’ve been in touch with Hale. And if no such person shows up, they can call him out on lying to his former Alpha (at least Stiles knows all about Alphas). That won’t leave Hale in actual trouble, but it certainly will not make him look good. 

Normally, he’d just need to find a random person willing to be buddies with him - which, Stiles could totally do that for him. However, apparently Lycanthropes can scent magic. That still makes Stiles a viable option, maybe, but it also makes him less of a random buddy. 

“Seems to me you have two options,” Stiles does the math. “Or three, if you count Deaton.” 

Honestly, while Deaton is probably the most impressive option Hale has when it comes to options, he might also be the most annoying one. Though really, Jennifer Blake is probably giving him a run for his money with her lack of respect for Hale’s boundaries, even though she claimed she’d only done it to make her ex-girlfriend jealous enough to want her back. Stiles still isn’t sure how much of that is true. He’s just sure what she did was illegal regardless of motive. 

“I don’t,” Hale is very clear about that. 

“Say hi to Jennifer for me,” Stiles is just trying to let this play out. 

Because technically Jennifer Blake is an option, especially if the whole ex-girlfriend thing has truth to it. If those two have gotten back together by now, she won’t even try to sexually harass Hale. And she is a lot better at magic than Stiles is, even though mountain ash is a particularly wolfy type of magic. Which is kind of embarrassing to think about. 

“Help me Stiles Stilinski,” Hale’s voice is a perfect deadpan. “You’re my only hope.” 

Well, now he’s going to have to marry him. That’s just great. All that and he can make a quality Star Wars reference? He’s literally just a love of baseball away from being completely and obnoxiously perfect for Stiles, so he’s probably one of those guys who think baseball is boring, or he thinks being a fan of a team is pointless or ridiculous. Or he’s just not that into Stiles - that last one is probably the more fatal flaw here. That’s not something he can overcome. 

At least he didn’t actually propose out loud this time. 

“What exactly would I be saying yes to?” Stiles has to know about all the fine print. 

“Something a lot like a romantic comedy,” Hale’s sense of humor rears its head again. “We have to look like we’re used to working together on things. In the non cop and canine sense.” 

Turner and Hooch, Stilinski and Hale - it almost works, and Hale is absolutely going to verbally eviscerate him if he takes that joke too far. Equating werewolves to pets and other animals is a form of discrimination, even if he’s just joking about it. And what the fucking hell is his head doing that he is going here instead of diving into the fake pack shenanigans? 

When these three Betas get here, Stiles is going to have to pretend to do a job that he knows almost nothing about - and yes, that is crazy and more than a little scary. But the other part of it is that he is going to get to start a whole bunch of shenanigans with Hale - the whole town already believes that they are doing it, so this is probably just going to be more of that, only with him actually hanging out with Hale in front of other people. And that is not something that they’ve done a lot of. In fact, that hasn’t really happened before. 

“And scent?” Stiles has to ask, because this is basically a dream come true. 

“That’s going to be the hardest part to fake,” Hale almost seems to be at a loss for words. “It can’t be faked completely. We have to smell like each other. The bond would kickstart that, but since we don’t have that, we need to spend a lot of time together in the next few days.” 

Seriously, this is all still sounding like an actual dream come true, as pathetic as that may sound to anyone else. He hasn’t felt this drawn to anyone in like… ever. And so far, any kind of involvement with Hale has led to more and more excitement - his life has gotten progressively less boring over the last few weeks, to the point where he almost likes it. 

“You’re already assuming I’ll say yes?” Stiles is going to milk every second of this. 

“Do you want me to get on my knees for you?” Hale quirks an eyebrow, and Stiles is having some troubles thinking of anything but that suggestion. “Or do you want me to sweeten the pot for you, somehow? Here I thought my friend would do me a favor.” 

Honestly, what the hell is Hale trying to accomplish here? Stiles gets that he is being convinced here, but this is not the route he’d been expecting Hale to take to do that. Or honestly, maybe he has been hoping, but he certainly hasn’t been expecting any of this. Because he still doesn’t really understand what the hell Hale could possibly see in him - for anything. 

“You’re good at that,” Stiles blurts out, like a fool. “The whole, seduction-y thing.” 

Jesus he is an embarrassment to… himself? He used the word seduction like that is actually what is happening here, even though it’s really, really not. 

“When I try to seduce you, you’ll know,” Hale somehow hasn’t dropped the habit of using porn dialogue at random just to fuck with Stiles. “Honestly, I’d prefer to ask you rather than those other options. Though they’re not really great options, and they make you look like an even better option in comparison. But you don’t have to - I’m asking a lot, I know.” 

And now he’s getting honest appreciation too? Honestly, it’s like Hale is looking at his romance wish list and just ticking boxes left and right, and Stiles has never actually written that stuff down anywhere, because he isn’t actually that stupid. He doesn’t like giving anyone that kind of ammunition - people have attempted to use him before, to get over an ex or to make someone jealous. He doesn’t think that this thing with Hale will have that kind of ending, but still. 

“You know I’m gonna say yes eventually, right?” Stiles likes a good rhetorical question. 

“Just decide before they get here,” Hale rolls his eyes at him. 

That asshole. 

* * *

The next morning, Stiles drops by the bakery before his shift. He knows that Hale will be around, even though the place hasn’t officially opened yet. 

“Good morning Stiles,” Hale says before Stiles can announce his presence. 

“You and your werewolf tricks,” Stiles huffs, because he’d kind of been looking forward to surprising Hale at least once. “One of these days I’m going to get Deaton to teach me a couple of hiding tricks, and you’ll have no idea where I am. Just you wait.” 

There have to be spells for that kind of thing - a spell to dampen the sound of his movements perhaps, and a spell to mask his scent. Seeing as scent is a vital way in which wolves track people, someone has to have gotten annoyed by that before Stiles felt those very same feelings for the first time. Also, Deaton likes being mysterious too much for him to not have a couple of spells in his arsenal that allow him to remain mysterious even in front of wolves. 

“Hiding from wolves is probably not a priority, huh?” Stiles realizes. 

“Not from your pack, no,” Hale uses the p-word almost hesitantly. “The most useful spells for an emissary are mountain ash related. Anything that can protect us from other packs, or perhaps to draw out wolfsbane from an injury before it reaches the heart. Those are the kind of spells that most emissaries choose to focus on at first. Stealth can come after.” 

It’s almost funny, how Stiles is surprisingly good at the very thing that is so important for an emissary to know. Maybe his kind of magic is just really well-suited to becoming an emissary - though that would not explain why Deaton was so surprised by it. Apparently most emissaries are Druids, not Sparks, and Deaton has only used the latter to refer to Stiles. And of course he still has not explained what the hell it means to be a Spark, or given Stiles any kind of useful book that he could peruse to find the answers himself. Deaton is just not that helpful. 

Maybe they can find him a better teacher at some point, if this kind of thing is going to actually be a part of his life. If him getting better will actually help Hale. 

“I’m never going to be stealthy,” Stiles feels that Hale should know this by now. 

“Not without magic, you’re not,” Hale seems to really enjoy being a shit. 

Which is a good thing, because Stiles really enjoys it when Hale’s asshole sense of humor makes an appearance. He likes his men witty and sarcastic, and Hale is certainly ticking those boxes almost as well as he does all of the other ones. 

“You’re lucky to have me,” Stiles tells him, because it’s extremely important that Hale knows that. “Because I’m a whiz at mountain ash stuff. Deaton says so. And I can get him to fast track any other wolf pack stuff if necessary. If I’m allowed to meet up with him before the Betas get here - he probably shouldn’t know about our plan, right? I’m sure he wouldn’t approve.” 

Does Deaton approve of anything, really? Stiles just always gets that mysterious Dumbledore ‘I don’t approve of you thinking for yourself’ kind of vibe from him. And since Deaton is not much of a talker, there isn’t all that much that Stiles can do to change that. Also, he kind of doesn’t want to get into the politics of the supernatural world with Deaton - he is pretty damn sure that they’re never going to agree, no matter what he says. Plus, Stiles is only there because he wants to learn all the magic, and Deaton is the only way he can do that. 

Maybe eventually Hale can help him find a more… straightforward teacher at some point. 

“He was my mother’s emissary for a time,” Hale reveals and Stiles tries not to openly gape at that. “It wasn’t a very great match, but she needed someone and he was there. He never got along with Laura that much, and he certainly never liked me.” 

Samesies! Deaton seems to actively dislike Stiles for some reason, as much as he shows any kind of feelings towards anyone. Stiles honestly wonders if the man has a family, or any kind of actual friends. He doesn’t even want to contemplate the man having a partner of any kind, but he wonders if Deaton is actually the kind of lone wolf (hah, that’s hilarious) that he seems to want to pretend to be. And wow, that is a convoluted thought. 

He’s always been great at those. 

“Buddies,” Stiles holds his hand out for a high five, because he’s a moron. 

“It would be good if he didn’t find out about it,” Hale responds after half-heartedly returning the high five. “He’s enough of a tattle tale that he will let my mother know, just to remind her that he’s always thought I wouldn’t make a very good Alpha. And neither would Laura. Maybe he’s right about me, but he couldn’t be more wrong about her.” 

Stiles’ fingers are tingling after that high five, which is really fucking stupid. It’s probably the first time they’ve touched on purpose though, and they’re going to have to do a whole lot more of that if they are going to be convincing when the three Betas get here. 

He wonders what they’re like, his fake pack. He wonders if he’ll like them. Even though it doesn’t really matter if he does, because he’s not actually the pack’s emissary. He’s not the pack’s anything, he’s just a placeholder until Hale gets his shit together and stops lying to his mother. Stiles is not sure how long that’s going to take, and if Hale can even fix this without revealing that he lied, but he’s interested enough to wait and see where this goes. 

“You can be a good Alpha,” Stiles is pretty sure of that. “Especially with a kickass emissary and three annoying Betas that we lie to all the time. I think that could be the beginning of a beautiful… something. For the time being, until you either kick the Betas out or get rid of me and find a better emissary. I mean, I’m pretty sure there’s a time limit on these shenanigans.” 

Stiles just really fucking loves the word shenanigans, okay? 

When Hale doesn’t use the silence to make a fucking move already, Stiles figures that he has to ask for the aggressive scenting he’s been expecting himself. He doesn’t really know how else they are going to pull this off within a few days. His internet research - mostly non-pornographic stuff this time - has told him that it’s not just that Hale has to scent mark Stiles, but Stiles has to get his scent all over Hale as well. Their scents have to bond, just like they supposedly have this pack bond thing. That should reflect in their scent. 

Seeing as the pack bond’s fake, they’ll probably have to overcompensate a little. 

“Now, will you be all over me for a bit before I head to work?” Stiles grins at Hale. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Hale’s smirk is even more smug than it was before. “The Betas are going to think you’re getting something else from me if you keep smelling like that.” 

Hale may give him shit for enjoying this too much, but Stiles can tell that the Lycanthrope is enjoying it just as much as he is. Perhaps even more, just in a non-sexual way. Because Hale apparently likes getting away with stuff even more than Stiles does. He likes getting one over on his Mom, his Alpha, and he likes teasing Stiles about that - possibly to hide how much fun he’s having with it. If he wasn’t having fun, he wouldn’t have lied to Kylie Morgan. 

But he did, for no real reason. Stiles has to figure that out at some point. 

“It’s not like half the town doesn’t already think that,” Stiles tries so hard to play it cool. 

Half the town might actually not be giving Kylie Morgan enough credit. She works hard and she works fast. Stiles is certainly pretty damn sure that his Dad knows and will definitely ask him about it at work later. At least he has some time to figure out what he should say about that. He doesn’t like lying to his Dad when it’s not completely necessary. 

Yes, okay, that’s a slippery slope, and it always has been. So what?

“Do you mind?” Hale seems genuinely curious about his answer this time. 

“I could be so lucky,” Stiles does not understand why Hale doesn’t get how far out of Stiles’ league he is. “Dude, you’re a legit snack. You could honestly do better than the Sheriff’s loser dropout son. I’m punching way out of my weight class with you, even in our fake hookup stylez relationship. So if you’re cool with it, I’m cool. Beyond cool. For once.” 

Whoops, he didn’t actually mean for the self-deprecation to get that obvious. That’s not a very attractive quality. He knows that, and Hale knows that too, judging by the way his face kind of clouds up and his brows get more murder-y than sassy. 

“You’re a very attractive werewolf,” Stiles is just digging his own grave. “And you’re successful, you’ve made several references that made me contemplate proposing marriage, and you have no problem with being a complete asshole to me. Now can we snuggle, or whatever it is that we need to do? I do eventually have to get back to work at some point. I’m pretty sure my Dad is going to interrogate me about our supposed hook-up, but I can handle that. I think.” 

Sure, he is still no closer to figuring out what he is going to say, but his mouth will get somewhere before his brain can catch up. He just hopes that the thing that comes out will not require anyone involved in the conversation to get out the brain-bleach. They’ve had too many of those talks before, and Stiles really does not need to go there again. 

He’s almost too caught up in his own head, because it seems as if the next time he blinks, Hale is right on top of him. The approach has once again been completely silent, which is almost infuriating for Stiles - or at least it would be if he wasn’t focused on not being too obvious about liking it when Hale is all up in his personal space. It’s a little weird that he doesn’t know what Hale is up to, and what he’s planning to do, but Stiles actually kind of trusts him by now. 

“Hold still,” Hale tells him, and Stiles’ eyes get wide. 

“Fine,” he says, trying to hide his surprise, and actually stand still. “Are you going to describe the werewolf scenting ritual you want us to take part in, or are you just going to crowd me up against the counter and take me right there? That’s what the research says you’ll do.” 

Not so much research as the porn he’d chosen to watch the night before. But still, it’s fun to mess with Hale a little, trying to see if he can get an actual reaction out of him rather than just a snarky comment and a thousand more words from the brows of sass. One of these days Stiles is going to get Hale to break, mark his words. The Lycanthrope can’t win every time. 

Or can he?

“Porn does not count as research, Stiles,” Hale sounds stupidly fond. 

“It’s very educational,” Stiles plays dumb as Hale indeed crowds up up against the counter. 

Stiles is about ninety-seven percent sure that Hale isn’t actually going to take him right then and there, because the wolf enjoys fucking with him way too much (that and it really isn’t sanitary to get it on in Hale’s place of business). But there is three percent of him that really fucking believes he does, and a much higher number that’s just hoping. Hard. Very hard. As hard as… Well, it’s pretty obvious to both him and Hale how hard he is at this point. 

Hale is just looking at Stiles now, looking at him from up close. He stares, and he keeps staring, and Stiles doesn’t want to look away, even though Hale is an Alpha and that technically makes him the leader of this pack of two (soon to be five). So he keeps looking at his Alpha, even as he instinctively tilts his head, exposing his neck to Hale. 

“That’s good, Stiles,” Hale almost purrs at him. “I’m sure you’ve learned a lot about the things I want to do to you. I’m sure the porn depicted scenting realistically.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is definitely sarcasm. Obviously. 

“Somehow they didn’t cover that too extensively,” Stiles is completely okay with being a shit about this. “For some reason there was a lot of knotting and mounting going on - I really wouldn’t know what that’s about, since werewolves don’t actually have knots.”

Look, he’s doing the best he can at keeping up with the banter while also simultaneously dying on the inside because Hale is getting ever closer and while Stiles has done at least a modicum of research on scenting and associated behaviors - that just does not measure up to experiencing it in real time. With the hottest fucking man he’s ever met - the wolf thing doesn’t even play that much into it, because even without it he’d be drawn to Hale like a moth to a flame. Because of him checking all those damn boxes - not just his looks. 

Shit, is the scenting going to involve Hale’s scruff and his neck? Because he is going to have a lot of ‘splaining to do with his Dad if that is the case. Like, he bruises easily and beard burn is going to be really fucking obvious with his fair skin - and he’s pretty sure it won’t look very professional. That’s something his Dad is always on him about. So that should be fun. 

It’s not like his Dad isn’t going to know right away that it’s Hale leaving a mark. Stiles is very aware of how obvious he is to his old man, thanks. 

“Just hold still,” Hale is losing patience quickly, apparently. 

“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles does not lose eye contact, even with his head tilted still and Hale getting even closer to him. “Please Alpha.”

Okay, the tone may be mocking but Stiles feels it getting way too real way too quickly, which makes him a fucking idiot for drawing so much attention to it. Still, Hale hasn’t been turned off yet, so he’s just going to go ahead and at least try not to make it worse. Which will be extremely hard - or, well, difficult, but he’s going to give it his best shot. 

“Stiles,” Hale’s voice is too close now, breath hot against his neck. “It’s not too late to back out.”

Really? Is Hale actually going to give him the virgin on prom night speech now? Because Stiles never went to his high school prom (he did not want to be third-wheeling in a tux, thanks), and he hasn’t been a virgin in… several years now. And he’s a damn deputy, an officer of the law - he can be trusted to make his own damn decisions. Sure, he gets that Hale is stronger than him in a multitude of ways, but Stiles trusts this idiot - and he really, really wants this. 

Even if it is all fake. He still wants it. 

“What part of me is saying that I don’t want you all over me?” Stiles apparently needs to ask that ridiculous question. “Because it’s a vicious liar. Just do it, Hale.”

That seems to amuse Hale, causing him to chuckle slightly before finally scraping his cheek against Stiles’ neck, rubbing back and forth. The rough hairs create a nice sting on his sensitive skin, and Stiles finds himself leaning into it almost right away, without even consciously thinking about it. His hands reach out, grabbing hold of Hale’s head to make sure that he stays exactly this close, or maybe even closer. Preferably closer, actually. 

Stiles just knows his skin will look like someone took a scourer to it, and he doesn’t mind it at all, because it feels fucking good, and it’s Hale doing it. And when Hale pulls back to inspect his handiwork, Stiles clings to him even tighter - he does not want this to be over. 

“That’s a good start,” Hale mutters, not quite satisfied, it seems. 

“So get on with it,” Stiles has never been described as particularly patient. “Come on, Hale.”

That’s when the licking starts, and the nibbling and biting. Apparently just getting Stiles’ skin red and reeking of Hale is not enough to sell this pack bond they are supposed to have. Because now that Hale is getting his mouth and teeth all over Stiles’ neck, that is when they are really building a bond. Or faking one, actually, because even though Hale is actually touching him, it isn’t actually a bond. It will just smell like one - hopefully. 

Though Stiles is not sure why an Alpha-Emissary bond would require the Alpha’s saliva on the Emissary’s neck, and what he can sense is the beginning of a truly massive hickey. He is pretty sure that is not strictly necessary - just an added benefit that he is really enjoying. 

“Derek,” Hale stops for just a second, just to say that. “Just call me Derek. Not Hale. Derek.”

And then he just gets right back to it, to leaving his mark all over Stiles’ neck. A mark that probably looks a lot like a claim, something Stiles probably is not supposed to know about. 

“Derek,” Stiles repeats, out of breath even though he’s hardly done anything. “ _ Fuck _ .” 

He’s lost all sense of time, he has no idea what he’s doing anymore. Where does he even put his hands? Is Derek going to go back in for seconds? Stiles really fucking wants him to do that - and he’s absolutely down for thirds and fourths as well. But he also has to get to work at some point, and he’s going to need some time to deal with…  _ things _ before then. 

“This will do,” Derek is eyeing up his handiwork again. “It looks good. The scent is okay.” 

Stiles is going to find a mirror before he gets to the office, just so he can see what it looks like before anyone else starts gossiping about it. He has to see what he’ll be making excuses for, and he has to see it because he desperately wants to. He might take a picture of it so that he can remember this for… for forever? Pretty much. 

“Excuse me, I smell amazing,” Stiles has to argue. “Way better than just okay.” 

Derek is laughing, but Stiles is unsure if he’s laughing at him or laughing with him. He doesn’t want to think that it matters, but he kind of likes the idea of Derek thinking he’s funny. Stiles knows he’s funny, or at least he can be, and that Derek seems to think so too. But also, he’s made another stupid comment and his hormones are a little out of whack after basically having his neck used as a chew toy for a werewolf. Only in the sexiest way, of course. 

Shit, he still kind of wants Derek to do it again, on the other side this time. 

“Come back here after work,” Derek pretty much orders. 

“Yes Alpha,” Stiles is having some trouble forming words, which is a first. 

He is never at a loss for words. Even when things go completely crazy, Stiles can always count on his mouth to just keep going, without any input from his brain. But Derek has blown his mind in such a way that his mouth has left the building too, so to speak. That’s absolutely a first. 

“And bring something to sleep in, if you need it,” Hale continues. 

Wait, what? 

Derek wanting him to come by again after his shift was a bit weird, but it still made sense. They have to spend a lot of time together for the fake bond to have even the slightest possibility of working. So Stiles was thinking that maybe they’d have a late dinner or watch a movie together or something else along those lines. At Derek’s, probably, because that place probably most needs to smell like they spend a lot of time together. His couch probably needs to reek of Stiles, and if he has any special books, Stiles needs to get his hands on those for several reasons - and him wanting to read them all is just one of those reasons. 

But sleepovers? Stiles hasn’t had a sleepover since high school, maybe. When Scott was single and used all sleepover privileges on Stiles. It’s been a long time since then, and his relatively new friendship with Derek doesn’t have years and years of extremely platonic history. And he doubts that Derek intends for Stiles to sleep on a couch or air mattress. 

Lycanthropes are not big on privacy in general, and sleeping in the same bed is probably a great way to smell bonded. Though Stiles is pretty sure most emissaries don’t get their arousal smell all over their Alpha’s bed. That doesn’t seem like a normal thing. 

And Derek is gorgeous, and Stiles is stupidly into him. 

“What will you wear?” Stiles just has to ask the impertinent question. 

“Who says I’ll wear anything?” Derek responds, smirking at Stiles. 

That is a fucking excellent exit line - and Stiles would have a whole lot of stuff to say about it, but he’s probably going to be late for his shift if he sticks around any longer. He has to go, even though he really doesn’t want to, and he cannot allow himself to dwell on the thought of Derek fucking Hale potentially sleeping naked with Stiles right there. Because that way lies a whole lot of masturbation fodder, and he needs a few hours to consider all of the possibilities - and sadly he doesn’t even have minutes. So he just has to keep his head down and go. 

“That man is trying to kill me,” Stiles mutters on the way out the door. 

Derek has probably heard him say it. Wolf hearing continues to be no joke. 

* * *

Stiles has almost gotten used to waking up without blankets and cuddled up to his Lycanthrope space heater. Almost, but not quite, because well, it’s only been a few days, and there is a lot about waking up with Derek that seems impossible to get used to. He may be getting used to the heat, but sleeping with a mostly naked Derek had some other associated issues. 

The mostly naked part being just one of those. Derek put on ratty boxers only because Stiles objected to sleeping naked - not because he didn’t want to see all of that, or feel it pressed against him as they slept, but rather because the lines were getting really fucking blurred and Stiles had to make sure that some boundaries remained. Sure, Lycanthropes are more tactile than humans, and they don’t see any issues with nudity, but Stiles is very human and he knows that he does not measure up and never will. 

Maybe with this boundary firmly established, he’ll be able to move on after the faking ends. 

These stupid angsty thoughts about not being good enough for Derek and Derek not actually liking him were such a damn pain in the ass. Sure, Derek hadn’t said anything, and it isn’t like Stiles is sure of anything at this point, but he’s pretty sure Derek is flirting with him. 

He is calm now, though, sleeping comfortably, draping himself all over Stiles even in sleep. 

It is rare that Stiles is awake while Derek still sleeps - Derek is used to getting up early because of the bakery, and he is a ridiculously light sleeper. Stiles is not sure whether that is because of his supernatural hearing, or just because it’s a Derek thing. He is kind of looking forward to finding out, but he’s not sure if they’ll still be sleeping together after this night. 

The three Betas are coming today, and it’s been decided that they will be staying at Derek’s for the foreseeable future. Not in the apartment over the bakery, but in the house out in the preserve that has apparently belonged to the Hales for decades. It is big enough for the entire pack - which technically includes Stiles, at least for a little while - and close enough to the woods to let everyone have their privacy if they want to shift and jump in leaves. Because that is a thing Stiles imagines wolves do, and Derek hasn’t exactly disabused him of that notion. 

But emissaries don’t usually sleep with the Alpha - Stiles knows that much now. And he didn’t even have to bother Deaton to get that knowledge. All he had to do is read through at least some of the many books that Derek’s already given him. The Hale family has a lot of records on the supernatural - Stiles hasn’t asked Derek about Sparks yet, but he’s found a wealth of information on emissaries and their role in a wolf pack. 

And that’s the more urgent question he needs answered. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” Derek’s eyes are still closed. 

“Oh yeah, I’m Edward Cullen,” Stiles is awake enough for that quip. “I can’t help myself, you’re just so pretty and harmless. I’m clearly thinking of sucking your… blood.”

This innuendo thing is catching - it really is ridiculously infectious. Plus, Stiles is really liking the teasing without consequence. He can flirt as outrageously as he wants to, and Derek won’t make anything out of it that Stiles doesn’t want him to. Because honestly, Stiles wants him to make all of the things out of this. Because he’s greedy and really into Derek. 

“You’d be good at that,” Derek opens those ridiculous eyes of his and stretches. 

“I’m definitely taking that as a compliment,” Stiles is just trying not to be too obvious about the fact that his mouth has gone completely dry at the way Derek is moving. “Do you have any idea how early the Betas are getting in? I managed to get the day off somehow - Dad was way more helpful once I told him it was to help you and three other wolves acclimate to Beacon Hills. But if it’s going to be a while, I might actually get some more sleep. Or read some more, because-”

He is cut off in the middle of his sentence about the extra research he can get done before the Betas get here by Derek pressing his lips against Stiles’. Okay, he doesn’t stop talking immediately, so a couple of words get muffled against Derek’s mouth before Stiles gets with the program and starts kissing him back. 

And it’s good, even though Stiles has been caught by surprise, because he didn’t expect that this would ever happen. But oh boy, he’s really fucking happy that it did. 

Derek is a great kisser - demanding but not too much tongue, he likes biting at Stiles’ lips just a little, and he doesn’t mind that Stiles probably has really bad morning breath. He just licks into Stiles’ mouth like he is trying to distill his taste from just one kiss. And apparently he likes the way Stiles tastes, barely letting him pull back to take a breath. 

“Humans need to breathe, Derek,” Stiles warns, still panting. 

“Priorities, Stiles,” Derek, the asshole, is barely even breathing hard. 

Stiles takes the time to flip Derek off - and catch his breath - for going in for another kiss. Because if this is temporary insanity, he’s going to take full advantage of every last second of it. 

Apparently there aren’t very many of those seconds, because Derek sits up straight out of nowhere and gets out of bed. He’s taking off his underwear before Stiles can get himself to look away - and oh boy, that is quite a view that is now burned onto his retinas - and putting on his customary uniform of worn jeans and a henley with the top buttons left unbuttoned. It looks even better on him now, with his hair a mess, and presumably Stiles’ scent all over him. 

“I’m assuming I should get dressed too,” Stiles thinks it’s about time for some sass. 

“Unless you want to meet the pack mostly naked,” Derek is always ready to respond with some sass of his own. “It’s up to you. I like all your looks.” 

Now that was just really fucking rude. How dare Derek say such a nice thing about him. How dare Derek be funny and sexy and a great kisser. How dare Derek like him so openly, even they’re still just faking - at least he thinks they’re still faking, even though they just kissed and kissing has never been a part of fake pack stuff. And according to his research, Lycanthropes take that sort of thing quite seriously - they don’t go around fooling around with just anyone. 

So Stiles is more than just anyone to Derek, and that’s huge. To him, at least. 

“I see you’ve decided to be mostly naked,” Derek quips at him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles looks at his surroundings only to still find himself in Derek’s bed. “Do you want me to wear my uniform or is that not one of your particular kinks?” 

When he first got to the Hale house - which is what he still calls this place - he brought a whole bunch of clothes. Everything he’s worn has been thrown in with Derek’s laundry, which means that everything he wears smells like Derek’s detergent and fabric softener, and it’s made Derek look at him even more than he usually does. Because Derek can actually get that scent in a way that Stiles doesn’t - even though Stiles really wants to know what he smells like when he smells of Derek and himself both. He thinks it might actually smell really good. 

“I’m so glad they can probably hear all of this,” Derek is grinning still. 

Stiles is trying really hard not to be too weird. “They have to know what they’re getting into.” 

The door opens to reveal three people - at least they didn’t barge in without Derek’s consent. The puppies (oh God, Derek is going to kill him for even thinking that way) have gotten at least some training. 

“Are you our new Dads?” The blonde does a hair flip before cocking her hip. 

Stiles is not ready to be anyone’s Dad, and certainly not anyone his own age. And he is just about ready with a monologue about that very topic, when he gets interrupted. 

“OMG, Erica,” the extremely tall blond sighs, “you can’t just ask someone if they’re your Dad.” 

Well, this pack is already a lot more fun than he’d been expecting. And if they keep being this amusing, Stiles is pretty sure that they’re going to be a good fit with Derek. Even the big guy - not the tallest guy, but the biggest - quirks his lips at a good joke. Stiles is just waiting for him to come out with the kind of deadpan joke that both is and isn’t surprising. He is looking forward to getting to know these people - even though they’re not actually his pack. 

“Thanks Gretchen,” Stiles nods at the sassy guy, and then at the quiet bulky guy. “Janis.” 

That makes both guys grin at him, and it makes Derek roll his eyes. Which is really all Stiles wanted out of that comment. Mission accomplished. 

“Nice hickey, Caddy,” the blonde girl is too observant for her own good. 

Stiles wants all of them to be his pack. Especially Derek. 

* * *

Because he doesn’t have a shift, he gets to spend the whole day getting to know his new pack - the three Betas in particular. Somehow he feels like he already knows Derek, even though it’s only been a couple of weeks since they first met, and there are a lot of basic things about Derek he knows nothing about. For example, he thinks Derek has a younger sister as well, it’s not just him and Laura, but he actually knows nothing about her. He doesn’t know about past partners or where Derek went to school, but he knows what makes Derek laugh, and he knows how Derek became an Alpha when he was supposed to be a Beta in his mom’s pack. 

There is a lot he has yet to learn, and he wonders if he’ll get the time to do so. 

For now, he learns about Erica, the only female Beta. Her uniform of red lipstick and leather is still relatively new to her, as she only got turned at age eighteen because her boyfriend petitioned the pack on their behalf. She had medical issues before and is now trying to do all the things she never could when she was human. About five minutes into their first conversation, she makes a Catwoman joke and Stiles vows to himself that even if this fake pack thing goes up in flames, he will continue to be the Batman to her Catwoman. 

Boyd is Erica’s boyfriend, the one who courted a werewolf pack to save his girlfriend’s life and found himself a new family in the process. He is taking business and accounting classes online and is happy to take any spreadsheets off Derek’s hands (because honestly, Derek just wants to bake things). There is a dry wit to him that Stiles wants to hear more of, and a kindness and a strength that anyone would envy. Boyd would be the second of the pack, if it were up to Stiles. 

Isaac is… Stiles is not sure if Isaac likes him all that much. He is quick on his feet and almost brutally sassy, which Stiles appreciates, but he seems to think of Stiles as some kind of roadblock for Isaac’s pack bond with Derek. That and he clearly doesn’t like how Stiles has him pegged right away - he knows what domestic abuse does to people. He grew up with the Delgado’s (when they were still the McCalls), and he watched Melissa flinch at sudden movements for quite a while before things got better. Isaac still has that habit, even though he could tear apart any monster threatening to harm him. 

All three wolves have been turned in the past two years, and while their control is pretty good, it is nowhere near the level of Derek’s. Which is probably why it is a good thing that Derek so vigorously scent-marks Stiles multiple times a day. That and the kissing. 

They should really do more of that. Stiles has been thinking about it on and off all day - and he’s pretty sure there was a brief moment of actual telepathy where Derek actually leaned in and kissed him when Stiles was trying to make him move with the power of his mind. It was a little more chaste than the other kisses - because the pack was right there. 

The pack is still right there, even as it’s getting late. 

“Wow, do you ever stop giving the Alpha bedroom eyes?” Isaac is the one to finally call out the elephant in the room. “You reek of him, and you reek of lust. We get it, you’re hot for Alpha.” 

No one ever accuses Stiles of being subtle - and that’s for a good reason, because he really is not subtle. He is totally hot for Derek, something everyone probably knows by now, including most or all of Beacon Hills. At least Derek is starting to figure it out as well, which is probably the most important part about all of this. It is very important that Derek likes the idea though, and so far he is not seeing any evidence to the contrary. So far, so good. 

“Can’t blame him,” Erica looks Derek up and down again. 

She exaggerates her leering for comedy’s sake, even though Stiles can tell that she thinks Derek is extremely attractive. Erica just doesn’t need to act on it, because she’s got a wonderful mate, and just because she likes what Derek looks like, doesn’t mean she wants to take him from Stiles. Not that Derek belongs to anyone, least of all Stiles. 

“You really can’t,” Boyd agrees in his customary deadpan tone. 

“I’m so glad most of you have good taste,” Stiles grins, giving Isaac his best side-eye. “But yes, I’m extremely hot for Alpha. Sorry you got here during the honeymoon phase.” 

Stiles really fucking appreciates that while Boyd obviously exaggerated a bit for the sake of the joke, it was done in a really genuine way. This guy is obviously deeply in love with Erica, and the female wolf certainly has some bedroom eyes of her own going on right about now. 

“The bedrooms are sound-proofed,” is all Derek has to say. 

“Thank fuck,” Erica grabs a hold of Boyd. “That’s my cue. Come on, babe.” 

While Erica is clearly leading here, Boyd seems more than happy to follow along, heading towards the opposite side of the house from Derek’s bedroom. Honestly, the bedroom selection process had taken a while, but eventually smart choices had been made. Even though everything is sound-proof, some distance is still advisable, especially seeing as they are basically still strangers. They might be pack eventually - or sooner than anyone expects - but for now they hardly know each other, and distance is the smart thing to do. 

“Why am I surrounded by mated couples?” Isaac complains, loudly. 

“Don’t worry,” Stiles tries not to be too much of a dick, “there are plenty of men and women in town who would be thrilled to get their chance with an available Lycanthrope. Just avoid Jennifer Blake and the creepy high school girls obsessed with knotting questions and you’re good.” 

Too much? Probably. But Isaac needs some vital bits of that advice, and it gives him at least some idea of what’s waiting for him. Because it’s going to be a lot. 

“I think I’m going to like this place,” Isaac mutters before heading upstairs. 

Well, so far it seems like the Betas will settle in just fine. Definitely. Beacon Hills will be thrilled to see even more Lycanthropes, and especially a hot young single one that they can drool over now that Derek is off the market. Temporarily - for the sake of the pack, and the fake pack thing, and… And all of the rumors that are now all over town. 

But they’re alone now, and maybe… Maybe Derek still wants him. 

“What is this about bedroom eyes?” Derek is clearly happy to pick up where they left off. 

“I’ll tell you all about them when we get to the bedroom,” Stiles is pleased, but also not having this conversation in any of the common areas. “Come on, Alpha.” 

Stiles leads them both upstairs - okay, maybe it isn’t so much leading as it is giving Derek bedroom eyes and then running off, knowing he’ll give chase. But that works for him just as well, because it gets them to where they need to be. Derek’s bedroom. Their bed. 

(Shit, is it bad that Stiles is already thinking of it as their bed?)

“What is it you’re going to tell me?” Derek is very, very interested. 

He moves closer to Stiles right away, trying to crowd him in the direction of the bed. And while that is exactly where Stiles wants to be pretty much all of the time, right now he has to get something out first. He cannot believe that he is a cliche partner from a rom com talking about needing to talk, but that’s where they’re at right now. They really do need to talk. 

Jumping into sex is probably just going to lead to misunderstandings and heartbreak. 

“Derek,” Stiles starts, even though he has no idea exactly what he’s going to say, “the books don’t really mention making out being a part of the traditional Emissary/Alpha relationship. I am not objecting, like, at all, but I feel like this is beyond our initial faking.” 

Stiles both wants and really does not want to look at Derek for this bit, so he settles for stealing glances while he pointedly occupies himself with taking his shoes and socks off. Because even if he completely fucks this up, they still have to share a bed together, and he has to take his clothes off for that. But if he starts with actual clothes that might give Derek the wrong idea about things. So instead he starts with his ragged sneakers, and he carefully takes off his socks before starting to fiddle with the sleeves of his comfy flannel shirt. 

“You’re not wrong,” Derek responds, completely nonplussed. 

“And?” Stiles feels like there should be more words there, actually explaining things. “Is that it? Is that all? Don’t tell me that’s all you’re going to say here.” 

Because that is not new information to him. They have been pushing the boundaries of the fake pack deal, and the kissing is basically just the last straw. Faking a bond does not usually involve sleeping together, and it really does not involve kissing. And it’s great that they’re both into the kissing - it’s more than great actually - but what does it mean? 

There are things that Stiles needs to know. And that’s basically everything. 

“I’m just glad you’ve finally figured out I’ve been flirting with you basically the whole time.” 

“No, I knew that part,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ve been flirting back. You’ve noticed that, right?” 

If Derek hasn’t noticed that, Stiles is going to have to withdraw the many mental marriage proposals (wow, that’s quite the alliteration he’s got going on there). Because if Derek hasn’t noticed, he definitely is not as smart as Stiles thinks he is, and that would be disappointing. He knows he isn’t subtle, and if anyone else spent any time with him and Derek, they’d know that this was flirting. So Derek has to have noticed. He has to. 

“I definitely noticed,” Derek’s smug grin is extremely attractive, yet so very annoying at the same time. “So me kissing you shouldn’t be that surprising.” 

Stiles feels like he might as well take off the flannel shirt - he’s got enough layers going on not to feel too worried, and he likes the stupidly domestic feeling of bickering about stuff while they get ready for bed. He’s never been in a relationship, so he’s never gotten this far before, and the warm feeling that getting there now gives him maybe distracts him from the conversation he’s supposed to be having right now. It’s just so nice to feel that Derek is on his side even though they’re still hashing things out, it’s nice to feel like an equal even though he worries he’s not. 

“It wasn’t,” Stiles tries to find the right words. “But also, it was.” 

He shrugs off the flannel and leaves it in the laundry basket that has somehow made its way to Stiles’ side of the room (he has an actual side of the room). He contemplates taking off his shirt too, but he gets distracted by thinking of the right words to use to explain why the kiss was such a surprise to him. Sure, it’s a natural culmination of the flirting, but it isn’t like Stiles expected the flirting to actually go anywhere. Because flirting doesn’t have to go anywhere. 

Not for someone like Derek Hale, werewolf bachelor extraordinaire. 

“Why?” Derek seems genuinely surprised. 

“Because you’re not serious about flirting with me,” Stiles doesn’t know why he’s spelling this out when it’s been an unspoken understanding the whole time. “It’s just for fun. Because you have the whole town after you. You’re basically the werewolf Mr. Darcy. You can do better.” 

Look, he knows it’s taking a lot out of Derek to have to deal with all of those customers drooling over him from too close a distance. It is hard to overhear the stuff they’re saying about him, and knowing that they’re misconstruing any niceness directed at them. If Derek smiles at one of them, the others will get jealous and think that person is his particular favorite, and things will get all weird. So it’s good for him to have someone like Stiles, someone he’d never actually date, but someone who’ll get on the same level of banter and just go for it. Someone who will do a little harmless flirting and never make a big deal out of it. 

Stiles is trying really hard to be that person. He knows he’s not the kind of guy people date. 

“I have to disagree,” this time Derek isn’t so much surprised as he is vehement. 

Why? How? Why? 

What is he even disagreeing about? Is it the not being serious about flirting bit, the just for fun bit, the Derek having the whole town after him (though honestly, he doesn’t feel like anyone can actually dispute that), the Lycanthrope Darcy joke, or the doing better bit? Or all of it? 

“What?” Stiles is having a little trouble processing. 

“I like  _ you _ ,” Derek really emphasizes that part, to make sure Stiles gets the point. “I don’t like those random people you seem to be so obsessed with. I like one guy. It’s this deputy, with great hands and a mouth that should be in porn. The smart guy who’s the weirdest mix of proud and humble, who makes me smile more than anyone ever has. The one who happily does a huge favor for someone just because he’s that kind of person.” 

Okay, now that’s a lot of compliments and he is going to ignore all of them because they are ridiculous and he cannot actually process this many compliments all at once. Though maybe he will save the comments about his hands and mouth for later, if Derek is so inclined. It’s the compliments about his character and personality that are the hardest to believe, and the ones he needs to address most of all. Especially that last bit, because… No. 

“You think I would have done that for anyone?” Stiles is the incredulous one this time. 

“Oh, so I’m special?” Derek sounds almost pleased by that, with an edge of mocking. 

To distract him, Stiles takes off his t-shirt, and watches Derek’s eyes be drawn to his chest almost immediately. It’s a nice feeling, that hint of power he feels just because he’s able to distract Derek. Because Derek is just  _ that _ attracted to him. 

“Derek,” Stiles sighs, exaggerating his exasperation. 

“Stiles,” Derek mimics his tone of voice almost exactly. 

Shit, Stiles likes this idiot so damn much. Probably too much, but… Derek Hale is a damn asshole who only communicates about his feelings when he’s using sarcasm and terrible innuendo, and Stiles likes him so fucking much already. He would rather do the thing rather than wait for Stiles’ rambling to finally broach that subject, and he drives him crazy all the damn time, and Stiles is pretty damn crazy about him. He doesn’t want to fake it anymore. 

“Of course you’re special,” Stiles has to roll his eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t get that. Fuck, Derek, you’re  _ everything _ . Not just because you’re a hot, wealthy werewolf. But because you like stupid innuendo and you make fun of me in just the right way and you’re a great kisser. Sure, I’m a little disappointed that you don’t actually have a knot, but I think I can get over that.” 

Derek can probably hear that the disappointment is mostly a lie, but he doesn’t seem to mind any of the stupid rambling that much. He apparently likes that Stiles is never going to let a heartfelt moment happen without ruining it with a stupid joke - which is something that seems to drive most people absolutely crazy. But not Derek, apparently. 

And that kind of blows his damn mind. 

“I can’t believe you,” Derek looks positively delighted. 

“I’m unbelievable,” Stiles may be gloating now. “I’m also unbelievably good in bed.” 

Maybe he doesn’t actually completely believe that, but he’s trying not to let that get to him, because Derek isn’t running away screaming (not that that’s happened to him more than once, or twice - the third time doesn’t count). Derek is still here, and he’s basically torn off his shirt as well. And that just seems like it’s going in the right direction, with both of them shirtless and just staring at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

“Come here,” Derek orders. “I’ll prove that to you.” 

Wait, does he take his pants off first or does he just leap at Derek and kiss him? He can’t exactly do both at the same time, and maybe taking his pants off before kissing is a bit presumptuous. They only just got their shit together, and great, he’s over-analyzing again. 

“Cocky,” Stiles teases. 

“You like that,” Derek immediately calls him out on his shit. “I’ll just get cockier now. Because I managed to get the cutest deputy to date me. There’ll be no living with me after this.” 

Stiles is not going to crack a self-deprecating joke about Parrish being the cutest deputy, not this time. Because Derek doesn’t even know Parrish, and he knows Stiles and for some reason he actually likes him. And Stiles is not going to ruin it by being an insecure shit, especially after Derek has been so clear that he’s only interested in Stiles. He’s going to lean into this. 

“Shame I’m already pretty much moved in here,” Stiles moves closer, and then pulls Derek in for a kiss. “Lucky for you I’m lazy. I just can’t be bothered to take my stuff and leave.” 

It’s a great kiss, but Stiles is a little too distracted to appreciate it fully. 

Is moving in together before the first date a bit much? Yeah, probably. But that’s how it goes with wolves - they’ve been living together for half a week now, and the biggest issue they’ve had is the confusion about fake versus real pack. And maybe after the honeymoon period they’ll feel differently, and Stiles isn’t actually completely ditching his apartment, but for now he really does not want to leave this place unless he has to (which means work). 

“Can you give your brain a break and kiss me back?” Derek sounds amused, not annoyed. 

“If you put in some effort,” Stiles throws down the gauntlet. 

And that is when Stiles learns that he must always, always,  _ always _ challenge the Alpha’s prowess. It leads to great kisses and multiple orgasms. Yeah, he really likes this stubborn, competitive side of Derek, and he is going to be exploiting the hell out of it in the future. 

But that’s later. Right now, he’s going to enjoy living in the moment. In a sound-proofed bedroom. Sharing a bedroom with his Alpha boyfriend. Living the life. 

* * *

Another morning, another pastry run. The Sheriff’s Department has really come to rely on the regular deliveries of beverages and baked goods from Hale’s Bakery, and that is probably all Stiles’ fault. He doesn’t hate it anymore, always being the one who’s sent out to get the food and drinks for everyone at the station. And he’s got a pretty good reason for that. 

Sure, he still has to wait in line. But the line has gotten a little less ridiculous now Derek isn’t running the entire place by himself. With Boyd handling the administrative side (accounting, orders and dealing with suppliers) and Isaac dealing with the customers (something Derek has never really liked all that much), things have gotten a whole lot easier. Erica isn’t involved on a permanent basis, but she helps out when needed - or when she feels like it. 

And somehow, that just works, and the people of Beacon Hills are still thrilled that they have a Lycanthrope-run business, so they come by in droves. The novelty hasn’t worn off, apparently. 

“The new guy is so cute,” once again he can overhear teenagers giggling. 

Teenage boys this time, swooning over how cute they think Isaac is - apparently Derek just isn’t their type, and Isaac is bringing in new groups of customers still. They’re gossiping just as much as the girls did, talking about Isaac’s eyes and his curls and how Betas just aren’t as intimidating as Alpha wolves. It’s kind of adorable, especially because Isaac can hear every word of it and he’s fucking preening, showing off so the boys will blush some more. 

“Ugh, it’s you,” Isaac rolls his eyes when it’s Stiles’ turn. 

“Nice to see you too,” Stiles is not going to let Isaac’s hatred of him get to him. “At least you already know my order, so you don’t have to waste time talking to me, as long as you get your hot boss to come out of the kitchen for me. He probably hasn’t taken a break all day.” 

The people standing behind him in line are apparently not amused by his behavior - which is pretty weird, because he does this all the damn time. And he feels like the gossip about his relationship with Derek should have made its way through town by now. Anyone who doesn’t know about it yet, will be enlightened the second Derek comes out of the kitchen and starts on the innuendos again. For some reason, he still enjoys flustering the hapless humans who swoon over him by being really explicitly into Stiles. Verbally, because hygiene matters at a bakery. 

“You guys are disgusting,” Isaac huffs before swinging open the door to the back of the bakery. “Derek, your idiot has arrived. Please come save me before he annoys me to death.” 

Stiles knows Derek says something in return, because Isaac makes a disgusted sound before he gives up on being involved in the conversation and holds the door open so Derek can bring in some fresh pastries for Stiles and his coworkers - somehow, his visits are always timed perfectly for fresh pastries. Derek really does have a gift. 

“Show some respect to your stepdad,” Boyd’s voice sounds from the office. 

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” Stiles hollers in return. “Other than Derek, of course.” 

The favorite in question makes his way into the bakery and hands Isaac the food he’s just finished preparing. He looks really delicious, just a dusting of flour on his arms - sleeves rolled up because he knows what that does to Stiles - and on his Hale’s Bakery shirt (really tight, courtesy of mad genius Erica). And he ignores Isaac’s grumbling, steps around the counter and grins happily at Stiles, ready to start the innuendo-off. 

“I love a man in uniform,” Derek is actually batting his eyelashes, the idiot. 

“That’s funny,” Stiles is not going to let this opportunity pass him by. “Last night you told me I looked even better out of it. I seem to recall you saying something about this uniform looking good on your bedroom floor.” 

They ignore the gasping from their captive audience and the vomiting sounds coming from Isaac’s direction, because this is just too much fun. And it isn’t even a public display of affection, because they aren’t even touching. They’re being positively sensible about it. 

“And it did,” Derek reigns triumphant in that particular battle. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate how good you look right now.” 

Dating Derek is doing wonders for his confidence, it really is. 

“You’ve been apart for less than eight hours,” Isaac raises his hands to the sky, desperately trying to escape being in the middle of this conversation yet again. 

“Poor guy,” Derek has no pity for Isaac whatsoever. “See you tonight. Bring the handcuffs.” 

There’s an older lady about two rows back who just about chokes on thin air - he’s pretty sure the thought of something filthy would crack her pearl necklace (the irony) - and Stiles doesn’t bother to look at anyone else’s face but Derek’s. Not just because it is the best face and he pretty much wants to look at it all the damn time, but because he’s sure it’s the only face that isn’t set to disgust or intrigue right about now, and he doesn’t need that shit. 

“Your order is ready,” Isaac is still making faces. “I’m supposed to tell you your things are on the house, but everyone else still has to pay. Now please leave before you actually make me hurl.” 

Derek nods at Isaac’s relaying of his orders, and then he turns back in the direction of the kitchen, but not before winking at Stiles and making a dirty gesture that can only be seen by Stiles (and technically Isaac, but he knows not to look by now). And Stiles knows he’s turning red, but he’s just letting himself enjoy watching Derek walk away for a few seconds before he turns back to Isaac and grabs his order, tossing more than enough money on the counter. 

“And here I am, still giving you your allowance,” Stiles has to point that out. 

“You’re not my real Dad,” Isaac is actually grinning at him when he says it. 

Because he too is a little shit who likes scandalizing the rest of the town. So he makes sure to put his ‘allowance’ in the tip jar before giving Stiles a one-fingered salute - because he cannot let him leave the bakery without giving him some love. Or whatever Isaac thinks counts as love, contrary bastard he seems to be. Stiles almost likes him for it. Almost. 

The gossip that follows him out is the typical brand of Beacon Hills stuff, about the deputy taking up with that Alpha and how it’s made him less professional, and how they don’t get what the Alpha sees in the Stilinski weirdo. But there’s also the people who claim that they’ve always known that he was special, and that he’d have to find someone worthy. It’s contrary and it will follow him to the grave, and it is so fucking worth it. 

Stiles Stilinski wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here. 


End file.
